


The red flashing lights

by DawnAtSky



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Corruption, Drinking, Gen, Germiphobic Kankri, Humanstuck, Implied/Referenced Underage Relationship(s), M/M, Major prude Kankri, Other, Pole Dancing, Stripper!Kankri, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Two-faced college boys
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-03
Updated: 2014-01-04
Packaged: 2017-12-31 08:39:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1029620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DawnAtSky/pseuds/DawnAtSky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kankri Vantas is an upstanding young college student, forced to work at a strip club, and... Alright, stop me if you've heard this one before. </p>
<p>No one has ever been able to peek under his mask, to see the true boy behind those devilish hips. No one. Until this bastard shows up, and discovers the truth. Kankri Vantas, captain of he debate team, tightass #1, is most definitely not who he appears to be. And that only seems to attract our resident rich boy asshole even more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Singles night

When the lights turn red, you’ll know he’s up to the stage. This fantastic red masterpiece, this perfect blood-red angel whose hips put the ladies to shame, and who’s confidence can never be matched. You will know him as the Scarlet Seer, and you will refer to him as Scarlet, and nothing else. When the dim light turn red, you will know when he comes, when those perfect hips will return, when that godly ass is ready to dance on the pole for you, only for you. You’ll know.

He’ll strut onto HIS stage, kick off HIS cute little skirt, and you’ll never know what hit you, especially when that perfect boy is through. When your wallets are empty.

When the red light dims, and then shuts off.

And when Kankri Vantas takes his paycheck back home with him. You’ll never know.

That’s why he wears a mask, after all.

Why he always will.

At least when the red light illuminates the club.

 

* * *

 

It never used to be this way.

No, once he had his dignity, his shame. Kankri Vantas wasn’t always a pole-dancer; in fact he was quite the opposite.

But money is money, talk is cheap, and life is hard, especially for him. Leading a double life isn’t always as perfect as it would seem. Co-running the university debate team, juggling work, and training for work, and college at the same time? Definitely not something he could do so easily in a crowded city like this one. He needs a regular class schedule, guaranteed work, and for his little brother to AT LEAST give him some warning before hopping on the bus to stay at his flat whenever the hell he wants.

It’s enough to drive a man crazy, really. Quite pathetic.

Stepping out into the alleyway, Kankri grabbed out his pack of electric-cigarettes (the only thing he is allowed to smoke when Karkat is around) to try and ease the tension a little bit. Across the alley, Zahhak stands firm, keeping you in his sights with a hand on his beating stick. Skaia’s red-light district is a dangerous place to roam about in the middle of the night, everyone at the club knows that. Inside his over-the-shoulder bag is an envelope of singles to deposit, and a package of sweets his boss made recently, a throw-away gift really, but it’s the thought that counts.

Tonight was horrible. Every night is horrible. Fucking terrible, Kankri could use a drink.

Naturally, however, he had school in the morning. He had club to host a meeting for, classes to take notes for and homework to finish. Not only that, but he had a mouth to feed as well. Karkat eats up whatever leftover remains in his pathetically stocked refrigerator before he can even make it home. Need to go shopping soon as well.

It’s always something.

 

* * *

 

 

When your business partner warned you about singles night, you knew you should have requested the day off. All the rich asshole get their day in one of the private room, you get to dance specifically for them. You, naturally, had a lot of requests. But your boss picks based off her interest, and for some reason you’re dancing for some wannabe business type. Private rooms have bouncers at the doors, yes, but the lighting is horrible! You can and do see the prick you’re dancing for, and to make matters worse he’s not that big of a tipper… Sure, you’ll get paid a premium for what he put into the room, but you’re his for two hours of performances.

Surprised he paid for that many. Usually dances are 10 minutes, tops. And after that you get twenty minutes for a break before dancing again. You’d be giving him four dances, complete with enough recovery time needed. After that it’s back to make-up and to a new client until closing, but this guy had you for quite a while, as it seems.

His hair’s slicked back by a ridiculous amount of product, and he seemed incredibly smug, staring up at you through bright blue eyes, sipping his complementary first drink without a care in the world.

He looks about your age. What the hell is wrong with people nowadays??

After your first dance, he coos and tosses a twenty, leaving you to huff at the small amount as you take your leave. You’re changed, made up, and few a small snacks for the next showing, and when you return to the stage, your client is waiting patiently. Huh…

You’ll give HIM a show alright! From the moment the warm-up music starts, all eyes are on him. You gaze is transfixed on those blue ones, your cocky grin more an angle of challenge. If he really wants you give you so little, you’ll just have to pay him what you truly deserve for your hard work. Your hips dip a little lower, you twirl on the pole a few extra times, and you make sure he gets a nice wide view of your lingerie before the song ends, and you’re left with another twenty and a few singles he’s tossed in here and there.

Jackass. He’s calling your bluff.

Your next dance proceeds the same way, and by now your esteemed audience has been thoroughly contended with his alcohol. Still nothing extra but a five. Maybe he is just falsifying his wealth, and just not allowing himself to waste his money on your well-deserving performance. That BASTARD!

That’s it. You have one last dance and there had better be much more for your tip than this next time, or you will request the last part of your day off! You aren’t going to show any mercy, your eyes glaring down to his, the strength of your movements enough to move mountains. You’re transfixed on your one-man show, with enough to challenge him further. Somehow, your stronger method is working, to your delight. You have the opportunity to see into their eyes, their bright blue eyes, and you will NOT let him out of your sight. You are the Scarlet. This kind of poor tribute is not worth your time, and you will ensure that he know that. By the time ten minutes roll by, there is at least fifty you can count. You walk away with a smug grin, winking to your guest as you go back on break. The look of disbelief on his face as you both stare at the amount he threw out is priceless.

Serves him right.

 

* * *

 

 

Your name is Kankri  Vantas, and even after your next eight dances, the tenacity you put forth for that one customer is still haunting your mind. You always get too into your role on singles night. Even if it is just an overtime night, you are in constant need of the money it brings. There is always some need for the funds, for Karkat or yourself. You are a careful person, naturally, and with new circumstances, come the growing need for your earnings.  But you can’t stop thinking about how competitive you got.

This is exactly the reason why there are bright lights blocking a stripper’s view of their audience. Too much distraction.

As your bodyguard drives you home, you rub your sore legs and hope that the weekend will bring you some peace and quiet for once. Karkat left a message on your phone stating that he needed the weekend to study, so he’s not going to come over, obviously. You have a weekend off, for ONCE.

Thank god…

Zahhak walks you to the door, offering to carry your things inside, but quite honestly you’d rather not have him inside. It’s much too messy, and you smell of the club, which is downright repulsive! He doesn’t say anything as you wave him off, closing and locking your door tight as he instructs. He is much too overprotective, goodness.

Your apartment is as clean as you left it, which is to say, not as clean as you wish. The couches are just about ready for steam cleaning, there is a stain in the carpet, and you don’t even want to THINK about the dust! Your bedroom is the worst to the mess, however. Your keyboard remains ever unused, and the textbooks scattered across the floor (for your studying requirement) just look pathetically messy.  You need to dust, and disinfect, and most of all, shower. Shower, shower, shower!

You’ll get the cleaning down after a nice warming shower and dinner.

When you wake up, you’re greeted to your Saturday morning with a chilly snowfall. The white flakes passing your now spotless windows are relaxing, and you can hear the neighbor kids already out playing. Today is your one day to indulge in coffee and a walk through a snowy lake on the way home, so you dress yourself accordingly in the red, fluffy sweater you love dearly. Winter may be much too cold for you, but it is your favorite season. The hills nearby your apartment are visible, the air is cool and clean and everything is quiet, and your favorite lake is clear and beautiful.

You couldn’t put on your winter boots fast enough! Starbucks beckons and so does the fantastic view.

If only the only thing you needed to be was this side of you, this true, pure side of you. Scarlet is just a stage name, that promiscuous, haughty little prince isn’t anything like you! You indulge in tall skinny jeans and sweaters and boots, not bright red lingerie and dancing clothes. The real you loves the silence of a winter day, the cool, brisk brush of the snow. The innocence of white, devoid of the fantastic, showy red you’re essence is splotched with.

If only you could make a decent living in ivory, instead of satin.

It’s really too bad. You skip the park on your way to the coffee shop, preferring to appreciate the view when you had plenty of hot coffee to sip during, and it’s really too bad. No one’s out during this time, it’s still six in the morning. The snow in the park is untouched, even by the typical service workers. You can handle he cold, untouched beauty, you know you can.

One over-priced coffee expenditure later and you’re heading back, kicking a snowball across the salted crosswalk. There won’t be any skipping your favorite sight now, there still isn’t anyone at the park. All of the trees are hibernating, covered in white and sagging in the temperature, but you absolutely love the patterns and shapes they form, covered in an inch of snow. Most of the snow is on the ground, however, and the walk to your favorite park bench is a little arduous.

Your park bench is still covered in snow, but you kick away a little spot for yourself and sit down, taking a sip of your latte to gaze down at the lake. Your bench gives the best view, a full frontal view to the lakefront, and the surrounding snow-covered park as well. Your ass is getting cold already, but your muscles could use the cold after all the work this week. You relax against the back of the bench, letting your breathing relax further…

While the nearby water is frozen, the sound a waves moves all around the snow mounds around you, you can still hear the waves. Maybe you’ll actually have a nice weekend, for once. 


	2. Mysterious (rude) stranger

“Hey!”

You weren’t expecting anyone around for another half an hour. You’d managed to sit back, relax against the slightly melting snow mounds on either side of you, just taking in the sights, and smells, and sounds. Maybe you dozed off slightly, because when you follow the noise the mound to your left is slightly shorter. Quite obviously, you aren’t an idiot to go nap in the snow, but you had hot coffee, and you wore your warmest sweater for the trip. A few minutes dozing off shouldn’t be that bad for you, right?

Apparently whoever this is with his nice fancy cleats disagrees. Looks tall, but then again, you’re not bothering to care, to absorb in the white lakebed at the moment. You do allow the common decency to pull your legs closer, after lounging so casually, you could trip someone if you aren’t careful. You don’t remember feeling any contact, so maybe he’s just being an obtrusive prick.

Still, it is impolite to not answer. “Yes? I am in the middle of a relaxing lounge by my lonesome, but if my legs being out so far were obstructing your path, good sir or lady, I am terribly sorry. Perhaps now you may be able to pass, and leave me be to finish my morning coffee in peace?” Always one of many words, Kankri Vantas. You’re a well-mannered, well-practiced man; you don’t even need to sit up to see your guest. 

Whoever it is give a grumble of something quite certainly rude, stepping in front of your view, which is horribly rude, mind you. “You’re in my spot, chief.”

Your rude guest is quite tall, as if you had expected anything otherwise, and quite built, at least from how he appears. His tan skin gives a hint to him possibly being Spanish, or Costa Rican (Hawaiian? Partial Samoan, you can’t tell for certain) or something of the like. His face is pleasantly framed at least, a strong jawline with the slightest hints of sideburns by his ears. Except, he’s forgotten to tend to them, and they look more like bangs now.

There’s a lit cigarette between his plump, sneering lips, and it makes you crave your own stupid electric ones. But his blue eyes speak to you far more than his full lips, or the slight trace of pierced ears and slicked back, jet-black hair could do.

They look like sapphires, his eyes.

You take your time to process what he’s said, tiredly gazing down from his admittedly attractive face to his chest and tall, strong legs. Why he would choose a leather jacket right now is a curious question, and he’s just wearing those jeans as well. Must be cold, he’s going to freeze to death if he stays out here too long. Whatever, your eyes eventually travel back up to his, and taking a deep breath, you finally answer him. “There is plenty of room, you know. And plenty of benches. As the saying goes, first come, first serve, I’m afraid.”

He does not seem to appreciate your answer, but he does take his own time examining you as well. Short, fit little body, covered in a nice red sweater and black skinny jeans, (that you’ve layered, obviously) neck of said sweater is bunched up against your chin. (This reminds you that a scarf would obviously be a valuable purchase. Your earnings from last night need to be deposited anyway. Maybe after you ditch your rude guest, you’ll go scarf shopping finally.) “Yeah, well this here bench is my seat, kid.”

Kid…? Oh really, how rude can one person be so early in the morning. If he isn’t careful, he’s going to get cigarette ash on your clean pants, and then you’ll be the one being irrational. What a pretentious little prick, really now. “I’m twenty two. Also you are being very rude and blocking my view of the lake. There are plenty of other benches, but if you really are that insistent, you should move some of the snow and sit down. I will not budge.” He only seems more displeased by your rebellion, but you’re stubborn as well. Your cheeks puff up defensively, and just when he appears to be starting on a tirade, he stops. Confusion lights up his eyes, and it’s so easy to see from those sapphires of his… “Do I know you from somewhere?” he asks, backing up slightly to raise an eyebrow. The eyebrow specifically underneath a rather peculiar scar you hadn’t noticed upon your first glance.

You don’t share in his confusion; instead you roll your eyes and stare down at your now cold latte, ignoring your own guidelines to look directly at your speaker despite your normally spot-on manners. If he is going to be rude, you see no point in them. “I have never met you before, nor have I ever seen you before. So no, you do not know me, nor I you.” He’s silent and unmoving, almost unconvinced. And he’s still in your way of the lake! “Now please, either find your own bench or at least do me the simply courtesy of stepping aside, please. I was quite enjoying my morning until you arrived.”

Your rather rude guess snorts, something very gritty and pretentious, but without complaint, he leaned up against the mound of snow to your left, eventually snorting again before lifting himself up and onto the six inches of snow mound. With his warmth he sank into the middle, but was obviously still up higher than you. He snaked his arm around the back of the bench, right up on top of your head, and crossed his left leg, almost boasting some regality he certainly did not have.

You nearly returned his dissatisfied snorting, but held it back, focusing your sight back to your beloved lakeside view and the subtle smell of his cigarette, both surprisingly calming in their own ridiculous way. At least he did as you asked.

 

The two of your sit there, quietly, for quite a long while, until the city starts waking up and the children start arriving to build snowmen by the lake. Your lakeside companion, who lit up another smoke almost as soon as his finished, was surprisingly silent the entire time. You couldn’t help but steal a few moments every now and again to stare, to take in any feature you may have missed, and observe your rather pushy guest.

He doesn’t seem to care about you, however. He shifts his weight on his legs now and again, and a few times he changes which one is up, but he doesn’t once look away from the lake. He eyes may show more expression than his face ever will, but right now? Nothing is getting through to you… With how close the two of you are, ignoring each other and only one person catching a single glimpse, this encounter is becoming more and more awkward.

You wish you brought your smokes, to at least ease the tension by having something different to focus on, but they’re still in the safe at home, and if you want to get them, you’ll have to text your brother’s boyfriend for the keycode. You understand his desire to have you quit smoking, but it is still a little…

You give a slight huff, and finally, FINALLY, your guest shifts his sights down to you. A little awkward still from being alone in your thoughts and you stare back. Your circumstance just got even worse. You stare for at least a minute, perhaps even two, and his face is so stoic and blank, you aren’t even sure what to say. His eyes are even moreso, beautiful and deep and yet cold, like him.

In the end you can’t say anything, your phone rings and vibrates against your pocket and you sit up slightly, looking away from him to answer the text your beloved cousin sent out to you.

‘YOUR KITT3N IS ALMOST R3ADY TO COM3 HOME KANKRI SH33 IS SOOOOOOO CUT3!!! <3 MEULIN’

You huff and relax back against the bench, jumping when you feel your guest’s arm against the back of your head. You nearly start babbling before readjusting your position, scooting out again with a quiet apology.

The silence comes back, and it almost makes things awkward, yet again, before he opens his mouth to speak again, that defensive, rough tone deeper, a little calmer as well. “Hey, what time is it?” You shoot him a glance again, a little surprised by the cooler tone, and stare back down to your phone. You give him a quick answer and stare at the ground near you, not knowing what to say again until his piercing eyes are back to staring at the lake.

“W-what…” Oh, you IDIOT! Don’t start a conversation; please you’ve already embarrassed yourself enough. “What were you doing here? Did you come to watch the lake as well?” Shit. Well he can either ignore you and things can go back to awkward, comfortable silence, or…

“Yeah…” He shrugs as you dread the continuation of your conversation (or perhaps even the end of it, sub-sequentially??) “I usually jog ‘round town, but I ain’t had time lately. Then I get to my usual viewing spot an some little kid’s gone an stole it!” There’s a spike of malice in his last sentence, and yet your find yourself more upset by his responses than intimidated or otherwise. It does not matter that he sat here before, or that he arrived here later than you, and when you tell him that, and the simple fact that he does not own the park bench, he laughs.

It is a haughty, overconfident little sound that pisses you off more than you can say. This is not a laughing matter; it is a serious conversation interval, not to mention a very real truth. You don’t get to argue this point further, because to your surprise, your guest stands, and dusts the snow off his jacket, specifically. You very nearly wonder where he is going after you’ve just begun to form a compelling argument with the man, but you realize he is leaving. And he insists on not saying anything as he does so.

And that was it, the mystery man, who’d been very disgruntling and inappropriately crass was gone. You didn’t even catch his name. It took you all of five minutes before you realized service workers were finally arriving to do their part, right about the same time your mystery guest had left.

You can’t stand the noise, so instead of doing anything about that man, you stomp yourself home to work off your frustration through aerobics and flexibility training.

_Rude._

 

* * *

 

 

Sunday morning rolls around, after your frustration-induced workout routine once again tired you out, and you spent the first part of your morning pleading with your brother’s little boyfriend to give you the combination to the “bad habits safe,” as Karkat puts it. You’ve got work tomorrow evening, and you will be limiting yourself as much as you can to your smoking, but you simply need something after your shitty entrance to the weekend. The password is yet another stupid combination of twos and space bars, ridiculous and so very expected of Sollux. You also know that your brother will be giving constant text reminders, discouraging you because of your weakness to nicotine, and the day will most likely end up in another argument.

Children these days can’t even understand that there are needs to be reassured. Wants, whatever. It snowed again last night, and the snow is still falling, surprisingly, but that doesn’t stop you from your morning walk, oh definitely not! You haven’t bought a scarf just yet, but the thought is very tempting. You’ve got money with you now, mostly singles you needed to deposit, but at any rate, its money.

You’re just going to take a stop at the park before starting on your day, for a smoke, obviously. Although your hopes are well-founded, as you approach your favorite bench you are wildly disappointed to find your spot taken, that rude man in the black leather jacket has once again returned to interrupt your day. He catches your eye, and there is a hint of a smirk on his full lips. You wouldn’t over-assume and say he waited for you, but…

“’Ey Squirt!” That cool voice should not sound so good to your ears, it does though, still. “Thought you’d be back.”

You glare, actually glare this time. He’s cleaned off the entire bench, and when you cross your arms in disdain, the man pats the seat to his left before hanging his arm around the back once more. You will not indulge him today; this is only meant as a quiet, relaxing spot, not a meeting place of frustration and bad memories. In the end, it takes at least a minute of consideration, but you are only here for a smoke, you can indulge him. Even if you do not even wish to converse.

As you sit at the edge and sort through your bag, looking for the smokes you brought along, he grabs his own brand (a rather expensive one at that) and lights up. You ignore him _obvious_ patience and grab an electric filter yourself, as well as the electronic-charged lighter it came with. You are not even allowed to smoke with a real fire anymore, and that is a little disappointing as well. How come your favorite bench has become for disappointing?

You don’t sit back as you had yesterday. As you take your first, deliciously clean drag, the sound and relaxing sights are the only things you can hope to rely on for a good start to your morning. Until your guest starts speaking again. Damn him for that…

“The fuck even is that?”

“Language.” It’s too early for children to be around, yet even so you remind him of that simple courtesy. All you receive in response is a snort. ANOTHER snort. He upsets you more that your brother on a good day, you do not even know his name.

“Ain’t no one here to complain. So, uh, Kid.” He’s apparently taken to calling you that, how rude… “What is that, some kinda smoking pipe a the future or something?” He is surprisingly talkative, compared to yesterday at least.

“No, it is an electric cigarette. I am trying to quit.” Not by choice, obviously, but you won’t tell him that. No way. “It is a much cleaner alternative to smoking; perhaps you should save some of the money you are wasting on Skaia Moon filters to invest in the betterment of your own health.” He simply laughs, again with his laughing, but a side of you eases. It’s the smoke in your system, it obviously is.

The silence returns, and somehow you find that more relaxing. Your aching muscles could use that ease, that wonderful sight of a snow-white lake, or ducks playing, of squirrels running about yesterday’s snowmen to search for acorns. When your rude guest finally opens his big mouth yet again, you are only the slightest bit more okay with it than before. “Remembered who you are. You’re that debate team kid at Uni, aren’t you?”

Your eyes flicker, taking some pleasure in such a simple nickname. Debate team kid. Still rude, but slightly less rude. “I am the president of that university club, yes.”

“You in a frat?”

“Heavens no, they are much too truculent for my tastes.”  Another drag and it seems your filter needs a refill. These smokes definitely do not last as long as you would very much like. Disappointment hits you again, as you pull out yet another of your three allowed filters to light up again. The man to your side still seems to show some interest, which is surprising.

“Hey, don’t knock ‘em till you try ‘em chief! What fun is college without some chill time, yeah?”

“College is no meant to be fun.” Your flat tone ensures that this conversation is over. You certainly have seen enough of your favorite sight to satisfy, and you would rather leave and finally go shopping while you can before Karkat wakes up to begin his usual tirade about your horrid habits. Not to mention you would much rather leave then stay any longer with this man than you absolutely have to.

As you get up, he seems to finally stir, sits up fully to gnaw on his disgusting filter. “Hey, you leavin’ already?”

“I have things to do.” Simple question, simple answer, the basis for simple conversation. You try to leave and the man jumps up, grabbing your arm. You immediately tense, staring back at him and nearly dropping your cigarette as you go. “ _What_?”

“Tell me your name at least, chief.” His stare is quickly becoming infuriating. If you will not tolerate people grabbing you at random or, god forbid, at work, then he should understand to not grab you here, as well. “I mean, we keep seemin’ to run into each other like this, might as well get to know each other, right?” There hope in his voice, something bright and light from his saccharine grin. You don’t like that, either.

You stare at him for a few good moments, before mumbling your first name, shaking his hand away with a glare. As you look back up at him, that fake grin nearly melts, and something genuine takes its place for a few sweet moments, a smile.

“Kankri, eh? Well chief, just call me Cronus, aight?” 


	3. The night in red silks

When you first step back into the club, Porrim is outside of her office, something you do not commonly see at the dawn of night. She’s always in her office, sipping some alcoholic beverage and managing her files and records. True, there is a martini in her hands still, but she seems too focused on a certain something at the moment to look like the boss you wish she was. (That is, the boss out of sight and not worrying you with her presence.) Porrim is typically a very sweet lady, born in France as you have been told. Her perfect hair is combed back, and her elegant dress is beautifully pressed and cleaned and free of wrinkles.

Porrim Maryam is, as you would expect, a very kind businesswoman, but shrewd as well.

“Scarlet,” as she calls you, seeing as there are others nearby as well, “I think we need to have a little one-on-one, dear.” At first, you are seriously worried that this is about something ridiculous. Maybe there was a breach of your contract, or maybe she’s asking you to take more shifts again, or maybe she is implying that you need more training for work? You can never tell. And when she just so casually walks in to the back room when you are stark naked, alone save for the makeup artist fixing you up for yet another round of exotic dances, you are a little miffed at her, yes. “Oh stop pouting; it is not like I have seen that ass before.”

“Porrim, if there is a need to talk, then could it perhaps wait until after my preparations? It is difficult to focus on your _lovely_ voice when I am currently being bombarded with product.” She grins, and sips at her glass, an obvious “no”. “Oh very well, I am listening, but do not expect my eyes to be looking at you at all.”

“I have a proposition for you, dearest Seer. A certain customer came to my office the other night, left a rather big tip along with another ‘proposition’ for your contract.” Typical, just typical. Although it is the club’s standard rule to reject any and all ‘business propositions,’ Porrim still tries to compromise, not only with club owners who wish to steal away her dancers, and with wealthy unsavory company wishing to ‘purchase’ the contracts for their own, personal use, but with her dancers, as well.

Porrim never accepts them, but to settle a deal, she will usually set up a private show, not quite like singles night. Singles night dances are short, ten minutes. These private shows are around twenty, each dance. While not on the pole or removing clothes, or taking a painstakingly short break, lap dances are a common occurrence. Lap dances, unfortunately, are your least favorite part of the job. Typically, they are optional, offered to all dancers with a premium overtime bonus to their paychecks. Some start lap dancing for regulars who consistently annoy Porrim with requests for that dancer, until she has to lay down the law and restrict their access to the stripper.

Some clients paying for lap dancers can be a bit… Grabby. You yourself have been forced to deal with an unpredictable grabbing, or a subtly implied grinding, making the rest of the night horribly, and excruciatingly awkward.

It is not something you prefer to do, but the overtime premium is MUCH too juicy to let pride interfere. If someone wants a subdom twink dancing in their laps, and you get plenty of money and premiums and overtime hours? You will accept doing it every so often. As long as there are those who know for certain that, no, touching, talking, and bonding are all not allowed.

You know what Porrim is attempting to imply by all of this workup. She’s already planned a private show for whoever this is. Which is… Well, you’ll have to seriously negotiate your compensation with her after work, but at least its work, right? Right. “We’ll discuss this later, Madam. For now I have a dance to prepare for.”

“Of course, Scarlet. Don’t get stage fright on us!” And with that, she’s gone, and you’re left with only dread of your inevitable show to worry about. And the day’s outfit. Satin, again? Must have been a personal request. When will you get to wear silk next, anyway?

Those boys had better be prepared to drop the big tips, or the Seer will most definitely be displeased.

 

* * *

 

Somehow, Friday morning, and with the day off work, you started your morning off right, wrapped up in your new red scarf, smoking an electric cigarette on your favorite park bench yet again. It rained over the week, but last night brought so much snow it simply doesn’t matter anymore. Today is busy, that much is for sure. The debate team is heading to the next town over, you have a week’s worth of tips to deposit, and Karkat is expected to arrive at the apartment early Sunday morning. How typical, that he prefers to spend his week off school with his boyfriend, right when the irate teenager gets himself wrapped up in a programming project.

Karkat’s due to be staying for half the week, at least. Lovely.

At least the morning’s brought a calming experience. No Cronus, no interruptions, and Sollux neglected to tell Karkat that you’re smoking today, so no bitching from your beloved brother, either. You should go visit your beloved cousin, the kitten you’d offered to adopt from her shelter is just about ready to come home as well. You know Karkat is more than up to the task of caring for her.

For now though, it’s nice enough sinking into the snow mound under you, staring out at the serene view. It would be nice to enjoy this one morning on your very rare day off, but unfortunately, it’s just a guise for your activities Sunday night. Porrim has, of course, scheduled your private showing with “Greased lightning” as she called him, on that night, and put you on lap dance request day the next evening. There’s not much time for rest, and honestly you would be fine with that if it were just on schedule.

Too bad you’re consistently tempted by optional lap dance days; you’ll be sore before the night is over. You’ve got around an hour before the park workers show up to clear out the huge piles of snow around the area, but after that’s you’ve got shopping trip after shopping trip, and you just recently got paid, damnit.

“Well, well.” You know that voice, Cronus again? “Missed ya all week, thought you gave up on my an’ got bored or something” He plopped down on a snow mound next to you, dropping cold white powder onto your clean NEW scarf “That’s nice, just get it?”

“Cronus, while I am, quite literally, up to my ears in patience, your insistent interruption of my calm daily routine is, quite frankly, very rude. Not only that, but you insist on talking up a storm as well? Can you not tell I am smoking and trying to _relax?_ ” Admittedly, that was quite a harsh greeting. But Cronus didn’t even comment on it, you’re not taking it back.

When he gives that same, deep laugh, and digs in his pocket for a smoke, you expect yet another round of ridiculous questions to get even more upset about. Instead he grabs two, passing the first to you, in an odd gesture of kindness. “Relax, chief. I get it, man. School can get anyone tense. Why don’t we enjoy the sight over some real cigs and cool off, you dig?”

It really is quite rare to render you speechless, especially considering the mood you’re in right now, but… Honestly, the thought of some real risk, some reality in your tobacco addiction, that’s tempting. So very tempting. He’s quite the observant one; you are tense, very tense, mostly about lap dances and your private show. It’s a lot you don’t want to be stacked onto you plate, but you can’t do anything about it. Maybe just one… “I… Don’t have a light.”

“I gotcha chief.” Just like he’d expected, he grabs an old-styled zippo lighter (okay, actually, it’s a replica of a really old movie prop. The only way you know that is because of that stupid movie marathon one of your club’s co-managers made you and everyone else watch that one week) and you’re a little surprised by the flame, turned up high to just waste away the fuel like it’s nothing.

It’s good though. It burns your throat the right way, even if the smoke is thick and almost makes you want to choke like you haven’t been smoking these past seven years. You’re quiet, and Cronus doesn’t say anything either. Unlike the last (first) meeting, you almost feel like relaxing again. As you burn through the entire ashy bastard, things are actually feeling kind of nice.

Strange, what even was all that hostility for, anyway? He’s just an average guy smoking and enjoying the lovely sight you yourself enjoy as well. You are just offended by his personality is all?

Perhaps you owe him an apology…

Or at least some appreciation. “Thank you.” You start, putting out your finished cigarette and pocketing the butt to dispose of later. “It has been quite some time since I’ve had a real one, my brother insists that I quit.”

“I can understand that. Mine does too, but he’s overseas, so fu—“ he catches himself, “forget him.” There’s something mildly sweet about that as well, and judging by the slight smile you catch yourself giving, you both know how you feel about that little embarrassment. “It’s just my policy, you know? Enjoy life; if you spend all your time counting the days you have left, they’ll be gone before you know it.” A well-valued point. You could argue it on both sides, it’s something you could easily bring up to the debate team to brainstorm reinforcement for either side. You could write an essay on it, easily. Statements like that are what you look for, searching for intelligent people. Logic, clarity, passion…

You’re getting off track, breaking apart the thought process in your mind. You really need to focus more. “I suppose.” Is your neutral answer. Starting a debate right now might not be for the best. It’s non-conflicting, and can be both passive and assertive given just the right tone. “So, your brother lives overseas?”

 

* * *

 

“Kankri, Karkat!! Ohh, my two precious little kittens are finally here!”

The animal shelter your cousin works at is surprisingly quiet. Up at the front desk is cute little Meulin Leijon, your same age and height, but damn is her hair fucking long. (Not your words, at all. Karkat hasn’t seen her in months, when that disrespectful boyfriend of hers made it a whole theatric scene of liking her long hair sooo much better. Prick.) She, of course, works with the domestic sector of animals, mainly with the cats that come in consistently. All of your family lives around cats, your family, your aunt, your grandmother, hell there’s even ridiculous statements that your ancestors were born with a cat at their side, or something incredibly idiotic like that.

Your last apartment didn’t allow pets, and the lack of cat hair to clean up, as well as the missing cat smell was quite welcome. You were quite content with your living situations, cat-less. When a litter of six kittens, abandoned at their homes, arrived in Meulin’s care, however…

You’ll get over it. Ever since seeing pictures of the kitten you’ve been dying to bring her home. She’s had her immunizations, her registry, she’s been housebroken. Now all there is to do is get her used to your apartment. “Oh, she’s been doing so well, Kanny! The precious darling just LOVES people!” Karkat seems way more excited than you do. Five foot three, with jet black (dyed) hair and typically piercing eyes, there’s no way that little kitten’s being put down until you get all the rest of the adoption papers over and done with. Not with Karkat cooing at her and making kissy faces like that. (He’ll deny it later, just watch, the little bastard.)

Meulin is as ecstatic as ever, discussing all of the legal documents, special care instructions, everything. Of course you both know the kitten’s needs, so she moves on, mostly to stories about the litter, about all the time she’s spent watching over her, everything. And then the conversation went on, and on, and on. Her hearing aids must but low, because her voice just seems to get louder, and louder, and louder.

You love your family, really, but sometimes it should not be this easy for them to give you a migraine.

While you’re in the car, Karkat’s holding her, still very content with the kitten, and you’re not one to interrupt him, honestly. “We’ll get you home to go make you a nice big bed, and give you some treats, and play with you, just you wait.” At least he’s cute.

“Karkat, I am leaving you with the role of naming her. Family tradition and all.” Youngest names the new cats. It’s always been that way, from Roger to Jared to Fluffy to Speckle and Bob. You’ve had so many cats…

“Alright. God this is going to be fucking perfect Kankri, I’ll make sure she’s safe while you’re at work and everything.”

“Thank you. I have work late tonight as well, so don’t wait up for me for dinner.” When does he ever? Your brother doesn’t even hide his crude language despite your constant request for such. No no, everything is such a big deal, he must come up with fifty different euphemisms for sexual acts as he can, just to make sure he makes his point even stronger (weaker). “Equius will be bringing me home yet again, please do be on your best behavior, you know how he gets.”

“I won’t piss off your goddamn bodyguard, relax. He’s just the worst kind of infuriating fudge packer, isn’t he sweetheart!” Why does today have to be so stressful? With your private show, and picking up Karkat and the kitten, you wish you could have spent the morning talking to Cronus again.

You spent two hours yesterday, just chatting again, and talking about your families, and classes, and things like that. He’s going through two different majors, music and business, and he works for the family business already, so his schedule is a mess. As it turns out, he has been going to this same spot every morning, at least on the weekdays when you’re too tired too. You miss each other all the time, but it was a special circumstance that first weekend. He asked if you always come to the bench on the weekends, and after confirming this mentioned he could probably try to meet you there more.

You don’t normally make friends this easily. Cronus is still a fairly private person, as you have seen, but he’s so caring, so gentle. That’s really quite endearing.

You wish you could have seen him today, as strange as it sounds you miss him.

When you told Karkat of your new friend, he stuck his nose in the air and chanted “Gaaaaaaaaaaaaaay” to you. Of course, you retaliated with an offhand remark about needing to buy him condoms and lube for his half-week with Sollux. You won your remaining car ride of silence with pride.

 

* * *

 

Porrim’s choice of music for this particular show is… Well, slow. More so than you are used to. The makeup artist overdid herself a little with the glitter, and even Porrim’s youngest sister seemed to have a hand in the day’s silky paradise of a dress for you. It feels soft and cool against your skin, and when you test out how it feels against the pole? Perfect.

Porrim set you and your soon to be arriving guest into one of the biggest private chambers, with the lights turned low and the slow music play sensually. Obviously Porrim is trying to incite more from your esteemed guest, hoping for big tips, and perhaps more for herself as well. If you have to continue to exhibit yourself with even more shows, you will be very upset. Private shows are tiring!

Before the show starts, you are to sit in your “studio,” going over transitions between song, when and where to lose certain clothes, and how to make your stamina go a lot longer. There is so much to remember, and the girls make sure you remember everything twice. (Your mask nearly fell off when you were practicing, that would have been horrible were it during a performance.)

You’re honestly a little nervous when the intercom calls your stage name. Nervous for whomever this poor sap thinks he is, trying to work out a deal for your contact. It’s time to see who is causing all of these problems…

Oh. Greased lightning, As Porrim called him, is the same slicked up, similar-aged businessman who requested two hours of your time on singles night the other week. The same one you really had to work at to get some good tips, no doubt. Why are you not surprised.

Play hard to get and they’re yours, you either have a new regular, or a new annoyance.

Which one it will become depends on the lap dances, though. If your customer insists on being pushy, your best bet is to call off that segment and avoid another “issue,” but with the lousy tip he left for your twenty minutes of dancing?

No, okay you aren’t going to show mercy either.

If this customer is going to challenge you, then there is more than enough fight left to best him, easily. After a short break and a snack, you’re already strutting out to watch him drink and await his personal dance. He’s sipping away at some hard liquor, just staring at the stage looking so smug and entertained. Of course until you arrive, already rid of the first layer of your red silk dress.

“Scarlet, babe, I was expecting you.” Strike one. _Talking_. His voice sounds flat, expectant. Something you can recognize, but only just barely. “Is it time for my one-on-one time with you?” You don’t respond. He sits up just as he should and you tilt your head, cocking a sly smile at him. As you approach to take your position, he rests his hands on your hips, seemingly to increase your annoyance. Strike two. _Contact._ “What’s wrong babe? I ain’t gonna bite.” Those blue eyes of his are demonic, like the ice cubes in his mixed drink. He thinks he’s so fierce, doesn’t he?? You’ll have to cut him down to size.

You click your tongue shaking your head at him. “I see now, you must still be new to our establishment.” You shake your head yet again, resting your arms above his, in the necessary slots designed into these seats for your comfort. “I may just have to set down some… Ground rules.” You note the quirk in his eyebrows, but don’t see a single thing. “Rule one,” you begin, gently removing his arms from your person. You place them above his head, before fixing your own posture to not directly touch him, either. “ **No** touching.”

“I getcha, but—“

“Rule two,” There’s a certain power in your voice, as you demand he listen to you, and understands you perfectly clear. “ **No** talking.” You hold your finger just above his lips, not giving a single response as he leans ever forward to kiss it. You will permit this once. And only once, and the stern look you give him speaks quite enough.

 “And, finally, rule number three.” Your grin returns as you explain, snapping your finger above the two of you, a signal to start the music, “Never, **ever** , displease your dancers… Do you understand?”

He takes a sharp breath, stares up at you through cloudy eyes, and instead of speaking, he simply nods his head and stares into your eyes, before trailing those wandering eyes to your gyrating hips, to your chest near his face, to your hair moving and shaking ever so slightly to the beat. You are finished with talking, and he appears to be finished disobeying you. Good boy.

Two more stage performances, and one last farewell lap dance, and you are most definitely certain your guest will be leaving with an erection, as well as a serious lack of his singles.

All in a night’s work. 


	4. Family time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just as a warning, the first part of this chapter is in Karkat's POV. SHOOOOSH I wanted to write cute snarky boyfriends. So there. 
> 
> Enjoy!

“So, Kankri’s got this serious man crush on the guy, and I’m just sitting here, staring at the dashboard wondering when the FUCK he’s going to get over himself and just ask the guy out, so he’ll stop fucking annoying ME about it!” You turn over on the couch, reaching out to pet the little kitten, whom you’ve appropriately name Damsel, like she so very much deserved. “Yeah, yeah, it’s not like he’s gotten any in the last fucking year at all! Otherwise he would have told me! ‘breaking celibacy’ and all that shit. Of course it’s not celibacy if he doesn’t count drunken one-night stands, but naturally you can’t get a word in when the dicklick’s talking about sex. Fucker thinks I don’t know anything about it or something, you know?”

Your boyfriend gives a taunting snicker from the other line, and today couldn’t have gone any smoother. It’s nice not having school to bother with. Kankri’s either cleaning, or out, or at work all day, so instead of doing anything productive, you’re been on your ass, watching movies, playing games you bring over, just generally being free. It’s so fucking nice.

You would feel worse about using your brother like this, but you do agree to clean his apartment spotless while he’s gone, and to have your homework done before you have to go back.

That and you keep it a secret to your highly religious father that his oldest son’s a gay male pole dancer.

That’s a major part about it too.

“The kitten? She’s doing great man, Damsel’s all adjusted to life here already. Had a few spills, but she’s a good kitty. She’ll learn… Yes I named her that, and shut the fuck up Sollux! No, I’m not cute, and there is nothing you can do to test tha—Captor. Stop that. I’ll be over tomorrow, you can do all that cute shit to me when we’re alone and I don’t have to watch the fucking door to make sure Kankri’s coming back. We both know what happens when the cute shit’s tossed around.” Your heave a sigh, and now it’s sounding like a good idea to hang up the phone, just to spite him.

The door opens before you can, and Kankri looks exhausted and just done with everything. Everything. Damsel sits up instantly, hopping off the couch to greet Kankri with a quiet “Meow,” a demand for attention. Two days and she’s already got Kankri whipped, especially seeing how he scoops her up into his arms, walking over as you say goodbye to Sollux and let him sit on the couch by your feet.

“How was work?” You try not to pry into his personal issues, especially his job, but on the nights you’re waiting for him to come back, it’s just habit to ask. You always know the answer, horrendous. Of course Kankri has never been a man a few words. Ever. So while he’s petting Damsel, and describing in great detail how work is excruciatingly infuriating. Why he doesn’t just quit would be a mystery to you, except you know you’re part of the reason why. So, naturally, you try to avoid every little bit about that part.

Kankri eventually goes to take a bath and get some sleep, leaving you to kitten duty once again. Already cleaned up after the last day or so, since Kankri freaks the fuck out over any slight mess anywhere in his abode. (You wish he hadn’t inherited that bad habit from dad.)

When you wake up the next morning, he’s chatting at the door with some tall asshole. Kankri’s usually such a private guy, why he felt the need to wake you up with this useless chatter is ridiculous. “I do appreciate you walking me home, Cronus, however I do need to get prepared for my drive. Thank you for the company once again.” You get up, wrapping your blanket around your shoulders as you approach the two at the door. Mr. Asshole greaser gives you a semi surprised look, easily being returned with a dark glare, and you both leave it at that. “Karkat, please. You would do well to show some decorum with our guest. This is my little brother, by the way. Karkat, mind your manners.”

“Yeah, what the fuck ever.” You sneer at blue-eyes, and pick up the curious kitten as she approaches to greet the guest as well. Kankri glares, but you both know how much you loathe waking up early. It’s only 7 AM for Christ sakes!

This probably explains your  *wonderful* attitude at school.

They stay over for a little bit, discuss college things over some coffee (which he makes for everyone. You’re too busy with that cat and texting Sollux, so like every morning, he brings it over to you instead) for a whole hour before blue-eyes has to leave, something about his work, who the fuck even knows. You… Can’t help but notice your brother’s eyes as the asshole leaves, too. Something distant and far too disconnected. Loneliness? Who knows.

Your brother is so in love, he doesn’t even realize. Calling it RIGHT now, they’re gonna end up together somehow. You don’t mention it to him on the way to Sollux’s though, it’s not your place to interfere that kind of romance. If you were a writer you’d be all over using shit like this for a novel of some sort. The undercover stripper falling for bad boy greaser creep. Fucking fantastic. Maybe you should consider that. You did do some writing back in elementary school, even if it was just romcom and anime fanfictions, but you never know how people would respond to a story quite like this. You’ll consider it after your rare Sollux time.

He’s waiting at the door for you, and when you run into his arms and hear that same obnoxious nasally laugh, you know the rest of this already pretty good week is going to be fantastic.

“Please remember to take good care of him, Sollux. I shall be in touch if you need me.” Kankri sets down your things, but you’re too clung to Sollux to even think of detaching yourself from him to say goodbye to your brother. Sollux lives five fucking hours away, no wonder all your allowance is gone, it was barely enough to cover Kankri’s gas funds, and you know you’ll owe him a lot for the return trip, too.

It’s worth it. Some time upstate and with your loving boyfriend is perfectly acceptable for owing $20+ to Kankri. “I will. Take care of yourthelf man, careful on the road.”

 

* * *

 

When you return from your long drive upstate, you’re exhausted and in need of a good few hours of sleep. The neighbor you’d requested to watch Damsel is asleep, but you’re a little worried about her, you’ll apologize for waking them up later. It’s only until you’re lying in bed, blanket wrapped around you and your kitten that you find time to relax. Something’s been on your mind, something about work.

“Greased lightning”, as Porrim called your recently gained fan, requested another couple hours for singles early. And as much of an ass as he is, Porrim quite enjoys the money her brings. Says he’s from a rich family, and it’ll be a little while before she decides to stop spoiling him with you. That stingy prick may have learned his lesson about touching and talking, but there’s something… more. Definitely more, that’s bugging you about him.

As a policy, you try to stay oblivious about your clients. Sure, if you instantly recognized one of them, you’d do your best to avoid them, and ask Porrim to manage the situation, but it’s very rare that you would recognize them through the bright-ass lights, and the he music pounding through your head. Something those demonic eyes reawaken in you, which make you actually WANT to impress him. You want to earn your rare high tip from that man, even if it means getting a little more invested in your dance than you could really stand any other way.

Last night you were so into the act even Porrim was a little surprised. You’d strutted all the way back to the dressing rooms instead of your typical exhausted, shameful slumping. She asked what had “inspired” you tonight, and you honestly couldn’t even begin to answer her. You’ve never been “inspired” about any part of your job, besides the money it provides. You’re usually he naturist, first of the dancers to get the hell out of their clothes and makeup and first to grab a fresh towel to wipe the sweat off of you.

And now you’re curled up with a cuddly kitten, warming up and hoping you have some time to say hello to Cronus tomorrow.

There’s another issue… It’s always something, isn’t there?

He’s so… He’s so mysterious, that man. His so appealing, you can’t help yourself sometimes. With his soft hair, not at all bothered by product, and his height and physique, and his eyes. GOD his eyes! And his _VOICE_ good lord! Deep enough to hit a pleasant tone, one you’re slowly starting to trust, too. But you still don’t know much about Cronus. You don’t have a last name to go by, either. The most that you know is that his family is really divided, and he takes morning runs whenever he can, stopping off at the park to look out at the frozen lake.

And that he’s very attractive.

It’s so confusing, all of it.

Single’s night is going to be so strange, Porrim’s still gung-ho on allowing your new regular more than an hour of your time. Tomorrow’s show is, apparently, going to be pointed towards you, as per request, and then you’ve got two more hours in the club’s largest single’s room to dance for him again, only for him. Obviously, Greased Lightening is one of those rare rich kids that stumbled onto the club and liked what he saw. Porrim’s giving him special privileges at high prices, and reaping the benefits for herself.

You’ve been through situations like this before. And they usually ended up in a lawsuit or two.

You won’t blame Porrim, though. She runs the cleanest strip club in the city. There are so many rules and guidelines and expectations set into place just to ensure that the dancers, the clients, and the club itself, is perfectly safe and clean. She’s often tempted by those particularly charming treats; she, like anyone, wants to end up retired happy and wealthy. She’s mothering and shrewd at the same time. Contracts, bodyguards, regular policy meetings, everything. Porrim Maryam is an excellently shrewd businesswoman, and everyone she’s ever had worked with knows that fact all too well.

You aren’t looking forward to this next week. At all.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this was more of less a filler chapter, but oh well.


	5. Scarlet Cheeks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to swing by and say that, obviously, this chapter is in Cronus' POV. Enjoy!

“So, ah. Kankri? You doing anything this weekend?”

You stare down at the cute little redhead smoking alongside you on your favorite park bench like usual. He’s got a mocha in his hands, white chocolate, as you’ve noticed. Today’s apparently not a cig day for him, and you can at least understand enough not to pressure him.

While you’re quiet, you go over your day’s schedule all over again. Somehow being nearby Kankri helps you understand, as you’ve realized. First take your morning run, and then get back to your flat to shave and shower before the limo comes to pick you up. You’ve got several meetings at your family business’s main branch. After that, you’ve got the night free, not like your father’s going to let you enjoy it.

Guess there’ll be no time for music this time… As much as the businessman side of you enjoys his work, it feels like you’re another person while you’re talking business. Maybe it’s the hair? You always do slick it back for that anyway. And apparently, you act like a cold, heartless bastard in front of your associates. If you weren’t, apparently, such a dick, maybe that serious side would attract you some more chicks.

Pffh… As if. You’re too busy getting suited up for work and anything related to work.

Like that club down in Downtown. Derse is a frighteningly wonderful place, isn’t it?

“You seem a little out of it, Cronus.” Kankri stares up at you, raising an eyebrow. God, he just has the prettiest face, doesn’t he? So wonderfully framed. Can’t find an inch of chubby anywhere on him. It’s amazing. He probably works out a little. You’ve never seen past his sweater but you just KNOW he’s got a rockin’ body.

“Ahh… Just work bothering me lately. Meetings and shit.” He gave a quiet nod, going back to sip at his overpriced coffee. “Hey, uh… Kankri? You doing anything this weekend?” He looks up at you, raising an eyebrow. You grin down at him with your usual confidence beaming.

“Besides going to pick my brother up on Sunday, no. Work started picking up a little, but I should have the weekend off. Why?”

“You wanna go to the newest art exhibit downtown? You know, at that fancy museum down by the port.” He stares up at you for a few moments, then glances over to the lake, busy with thought. “You seem like the kinda guy who’d go for something like that, right? Besides, it’s got an even better view of the water than this park at least.” You’ve wanted to go yourself. A couple pieces from your favorite modern artists just  got donated to that particular museum after all. Why not save the trip and make it a date?

Kankri seemed to mull over it for a little while, while you finished your smoke and anxiously awaited his response. What if he’s not an art kinda guy? Maybe it’s just you… Nah, it definitely ain’t you. Inevitably, he came up with a marginally acceptable answer. “I’ll need to check my schedules, but I would like to go.”

“Great! I can handle transportation and everything. There’s a sweet restaurant nearby so we can go there for lunch, or dinner or something.” Fuck YES, it’s a date! You smooth motherfucker, you! “And hey, if you can’t make it you can just call me.”

“Alright, then.”

 

* * *

 

Stepping into the downtown Derse club once again, to the beauty greeting you near the door. You’re almost ashamed to admit that _you_ , future CFO of the Ampora Trading Company, might have met your match. You can, typically, grease any shoddy businessman’s palms out of a few workers, some shares of their company (or their entire company, who knows) or at least a contract or two. The only thing you’ve been able to get from this one though, was that hot as HELL personal show, and a few requests of her best dancer.

Ahh… Scarlet. Such a wonderful body he has. You’ve only seen his performances for a couple weeks now, but you are never disappointed by him. His beautiful red hair, that slender frame, the slightest hint of his gorgeous eyes behind that ridiculous mask… Why would such a beauty want to hide his face, anyway? If you didn’t already get scolded by _your_ Seer the last time, you would ask him personally.

Aaa… That was the first “personal dancer” you’ve met that could do THAT to you! You’re hooked, sincerely hooked. What you would _do_ to spend even a single night, personally worshipping that glorious ass of his. Maybe you’re a little shallow, falling for a stripper like that, but considering how his voice is STILL ringing in your head, you’ve already decided that you want him—no, NEED him.

That manager of his, though. Porrim’s a tough little cookie. He’s bound by a shitton of contracts and agreements, bound to THIS club, and ONLY this club. Such a shame…

Such a shame you won’t be giving up, that is.

Today’s the second time you’ve rented Scarlet’s time outside of your one-on-one viewing, and you intend to enjoy yourself again this time. There’s a drink in your hand and a bodyguard sneering and glaring at your slicked back hair from the door. You really wouldn’t use this much product unless you needed to impress someone, like a certain Miss Maryam, perhaps.

Scarlet finally arrives on the stage, and you make sure to whistle at him from your seat, raising the margarita glass you intend to finish on your next sip. He stares down at you and quirks his head to the side, snapping his fingers to signal the music to start. You toss in a single for your cute little dancer, intent on only one for this first dance. (You know there’ll be more where that came from, however.)

Your visits like this are like a game. Sometimes you can ‘convince’ him to work a little harder for you, push himself some more. You cross your leg elegantly, staring into his eyes while he hangs off the pole, hips grinding against it so sweetly.

By the end of this first round, he’s drawn out a couple more tips from you, nothing significant. Your limit per dance is around $10-15. (Kind of cheap, as you’ve been told.) Anything more, and your dancer wins. That’s how the game works, after all.

Scarlet, surprisingly, remains undefeated.

Eridan keeps complaining about your supposed waste, but hey, Scarlet deserves it. There’s a difference between his personal shows and his regular staged ones. Maybe the eye contact? Like a half-respectful worker, those eyes never seem to leave yours when he’s in the zone. He’s outstanding, it gets you to toss out the singles every time. Your highest tip was $50, the last show he gave you during your first experience with him in this same room.

You came home needing a nice cold shower, of course thinking about him, about his wonderful hips, his ass. Ended up coming harder than you had since your last girlfriends called you daddy for the first time.

Ohh god, wonder if he’s into that, too. C’mon Scar, show daddy your moves. Dance for me, my beautiful little slut, yesss… Ye—Well. Shit! Not only are you sporting a semi now, you’ve ended up losing the round again. There’s at least $25 on the stage as he struts off, waving you off victoriously.

Goddamnit how does he keep doing that?

 

* * *

 

You’ve only got one round left, and one more clip of singles left to give. Either Scarlet’s pulling out all the stops, or you’re just getting sloppy, either way, things are not looking too good for your side of this little competition.

 Are you getting sloppy? Maybe this morning is what’s distracting you. With this glitter and glamor gone, you’re just you. No product, or intimidation, or sleezy determination. Not gonna lie, both sides of you are fucking wonderful, but this little habit of yours could get you in trouble if Kankri decides to take you up on your… offer, from earlier today.

God, Kankri… He’s so sweet. When you first met him, the little prick annoyed the hell out of you, but there’s something powerful about that smile of his. And those eyes, and hair… Something doesn’t seem right about that. Not that—Okay, he’s adorable as hell, you’d like nothing more than to carry him off to bed to hear him beg for your cock, but like, about him. You really can’t put a finger on it, though…

Your ten minute wait to get back to Scarlet, maybe even win a round for once, is way too long. What if… What if Kankri’s a good dancer, too. It’s fucking horrible to think of him in the same breath as your dominatrix stripper babe, but…

Those eyes are really familiar. If only you could get a better look at them. You asked Porrim for personal information about Scarlet before, but she wouldn’t budge. Not even a name, just a cold glare and the subject being changed before he wanted it to. There hasn’t been much of a breakthrough on that little case at all, such a shame.

You’d love to skip past all these contracts, have some alone time with Scarlet yourself.

Why did you have to think about Kankri while you’re here? Now you’re just confused, and a little more invested in that beautiful, concealed face, as Scarlet walks onto the stage one last time for the night. You ask for a refill on your margarita as he stares down at you, in anticipation. There’s that unbridled lust running through his eyes, straight to yours.

You’ve gotta go meet up with Kankri tomorr—Oh STOP that! Stop thinking of that sweet, probably straight, college boy you’re so enamored with. If you knew you could actually get with someone like him, you wouldn’t be ANYWHERE near a place like this!

You shook your head, knocking your thoughts away to return his eye contact, and he grins and starts to dance once again. He can probably tell how out of it you’re being. With his cute eyes and that flouncy red hair. God you’d do anything have him bend over a little more for you and—oh, he bent over. Tips are a good idea right about now!

Scarlet look’s exhausted, sweat dripping from his skin. This last song’s different, slower. More sensual. Is this retribution from Porrim to make you leave this club hard as a rock? He bending over, twirling on the pole, mesmerizing you by his wonderful hips, going back, and forth, and back, and forth… God. That smug look on his face is so fucking patronizing, too. He’s goading you on, letting you know how exactly much you’ve lost to him. That fucking grin, you want him so fucking much.  

Your clip’s gone, and he’s got the very, very last bit of clothes teasing you with every few inches of skin still concealed. He dips down as the last song draws to a close, running his hands up his body one last time. Up his perfect legs, his thin torso, teasing over his nipples, his slender neck… One of those godly, tiny hands runs up his face, to his button nose, and in an instant, you know he’s made a grave mistake.

As Scarlet runs his hand to pull back sweat-matted hair, he takes half of his coveted mask with him, with a finger accidentally hooked underneath his mask, revealing a perfectly framed cheek, flushed-red blush, and… Wait.

Hold the fuckin’ phone. You _know_ that face! 


	6. Red sighs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wow. Okay, wow. This took FOREVER to write! But hopefully it's alright. I always seem to find the inspiration to write for this fic at 3 AM. Hmm. A little heavy on the exposition on this one too. But anyway, enjoy! And thank you for reading.

It is, quite certainly safe to say that you’re properly fucked.

It’s not the loveliest of terms, but if you were any MORE fucked you might actually _like_ what was happening. You made one little mess, one little slip up, and before you knew it some sleazeball knew exactly who you are, and exactly who you’ve been sharing a smoke nearly every day.

You’re a smart man. With the countless shocked texts, the mere innocence popping out from those wide blue eyes staring up at you on your stage, even Porrim’s responses to your freakout post-show… Yeah, it was simple enough to recall that same scar you’d seen on your “friend” beforehand. You’ve been dancing for Cronus all this time. Cronus Ampora, heir to the Ampora Trading Company. He completely duped you, and you had completely duped him.

This is so very, very fucked up.

It pays to be a little informed, unfortunately. But while that statement is true in this particular case, the phrase “ignorance is bliss,” fits so well with your circumstances, too. Or perhaps “Kankri Vantas is a stupid little shit” would work better.

So instead of the little ‘date’ he’d planned, pre-discovery, you took Damsel and stayed the night over Porrim’s apartment. She was working late tonight, but offered you the keys when you finally settled your emotions sensibly. Porrim’s apartment is rather cluttered, filled with fashion design clippings, fabric, magazines, and the smell of tea is heavy in the air. There’s something comforting about this horrible mess. Homey.

In exchange for allowing you to stay the night, you cleaned her kitchen. And bathroom and everywhere except for her sewing room (and anything that looked personal). It’s only fair to do at least a little helping out while Damsel snuggled into her couch. Damsel’s such a good kitty, really. You’re so happy she’s not mischievous, not like the last cat you lived with.

Curling up on Porrim’s couch is always nice. You can hear when she returns from work, drunk and exhausted as Zahhak escorts her back home before returning to his own. You toss the man a thankful glance, taking it upon yourself to get her inside and onto the couch while you fetch your host a cup of chamomile. Damsel takes her rightful place on Porrim’s lap, getting the petting of her life from your drunken boss.

“Here, have a sip.” You call, setting it down nearby. Damsel meows to you while you return to your backpack to grab some food you’d been preparing. It’s a good distraction for her while Miss Maryam nearly drops her tea in excitement.

“Oh, it’s been so long since you stayed over, dear! You wouldn’t believe how horrid it is NOT having you around, mm?” She downs the cup immediately while you’re STILL working to help her. Getting all the piercings out, drawing her bath, making her bed. You’re indebted to her really. You won’t have to go home and possibly face Cronus, and she’s offered you gas money and a free kitten-sitter for tomorrow’s trip taking Karkat home.

Win-win situation. Equivalent exchange, you know how it goes.

You usually come here when she’s having some bad days, when she’s stressed and just shouldn’t be alone. You aren’t a stingy employee; Porrim keeps you afloat and protects you. She works hard despite family issues and (from her words) sexist opposition to her career choices. You try to keep visits short but meaningful, and at the end of the day you go back to work and an extra smile on her face is your gratitude. That’s enough.

(A raise every now and again would be nice, too. Ah well.)

The night gets quiet once her tea’s gone, and your boss goes to sleep immediately after the bath.

You’re barraged with more calls and texts when you wake. Cronus, Cronus again, and AGAIN. A couple from Karkat, asking you for extra time with Sollux. (Something you had to deny, telling him father would be furious.) Every little single one asking you, bugging you, increasing your stress tenfold. A break for once would be fantastic, especially considering how much this situation is turning out like…

“Kankri?” Porrim calls at you from the kitchen, obviously a little hung-over still, but there’s a pan in her hand, flipping a pancake onto a plate. “Dear, come feed Damsel and get your breakfast, we have a big day today.”

Every day’s a big day, what the hell is she talking about? As you get you to do as you’re asked, she tosses a mischievous wink at your face. That certainly does not help. Not at all. “What are you planning?”

“A little congratulations.” She mentions, finishing breakfast. “And a getaway. You mentioned having a date today?”

“Ugh…” You were already going to skip out on that. If you can help it, not seeing Cronus ever again would be fucking fantastic. But he’s got your cell number, your address, your family name… You’re going to eventually be forced to speak with him SOMETIME. Probably have to convince him to keep quiet about it, too.

If people find out who you are, what you do, then… No, no that would be even worse!

The two of you don’t talk much during breakfast, but almost immediately she gets you to get dressed up in some nice clothes she’s designed, and her little sister shows up to watch your kitten before handing you directions and gas money. There’s no fucking telling WHERE Porrim is taking you, but it seems like—

“Relaxation Haven?”

“Best masseuse in town! My treat, as thanks for cleaning up around the place.” And for the extra work, no doubt. Well… Maybe a little break _is_ in order. “And leave your cellphone in the car, dear. No thinking about Ampora here.”

* * *

 

Unlike your expectations, that massage was PERFECT! Nearly fell asleep on the table while the therapist worked out those unruly knots in your back. She’s a kind masseuse, and didn’t hold back when she found out how many stubborn knots were in your back. (My, it’s like your past week has been the most stressful seven days of your _life_ or something.) Driving home was unpleasant, but after three cups of water forced on you, and a well prepared Chinese take-out dinner, it’s almost as if that sleaze didn’t exist.

If only.

“Hey, uh… So you weren’t at home yesterday. That’s cool, figured I’d wait on that exhibit and all though…  Wouldn’t be cool just goin’ alone.  Hey, so… Call me later, alright? Please.”

“Kankri? Yeah, me again, Cronus. Look, ah, don’t mean to blow up your phone or nothin’ but could you maybe give me a call sometime? We can talk about, heh, last Friday.”

“Fuckin’ hell Vantas not even a text? Your phone ain’t dead ain’t it man? Please. I just wanna talk to you, please call me.”

“Hey, sorry again. Really I’m sorry, I—Yeah. Your phone’s probably dead ain’t it. Anyway Sorry I couldn’t meet up with you for that exhibit, I was real interested in, you know, getting’ to know you better. But it’s fine. Fine… Call me?”

And that marks only half the messages left on your phone from yesterday. Forget about all the text messages. _Good lord!_ Either he’s excessively needy or at least date-punctual, or he really does want in your pants THAT badly. You aren’t even that attractive, just a lanky poledancer with messy hair all the time. How anyone finds appeal in you is outstanding! And a man like Cronus Ampora could have anyone he desires.

Except for you of course. You don’t facilitate with your clients any more than necessary.

That is how it always is. What do you expect this to be, some overrated love story about the stripper and the rich sugardaddy pining after the scantly-clad dancer? NO! This is real life, and you certainly will not stand for this sort of foolishness!

… No matter how sweet he once appeared to be.

 

* * *

 

 

Even as you arrived, Sollux was having difficulties prying your little brother from his side. He was wearing most of his boyfriend’s clothes, and there were dark marks on his neck. This would be an interesting ride home. “Karkat really, get ready to go!”

“Fuck off!! I’m staying here Kankri, that’s final! Fuck dad and fuck his goddamn iron grip on me! I swear to god if you make me go back there I will take the BUS back up on my own!” Karkat is most certainly serious, isn’t he? Already two o’clock and this little petulant shit isn’t even ready to go yet! “Sollux SAY something! I don’t want to leave again.”

“Thorry babe. Look, I’ll try to keep the schedule open alright? Fucking promithe. Let’s just deal until you turn eighteen. Pleathe babe.”

“He’s right Karkat. Just a little longer and I will personally convince father to let you move out.” It’s so difficult dealing with Karkat like this. Sollux lives HOURS away, and from the looks of things, they made sure to spend their precious time together _wisely_. Sollux is just a little over a year older than your brother, he’s been living with their roommate as soon as leaving was possible! Father never once openly approved of their relationship; it’s always fallen upon you to protect him. Sollux keeps Karkat in line, through the mental instabilities and the depression. Before you could properly help care for his mental state these were the trips Karkat depended on for survival.

And now you have to go sit on the snowy porch while they suck face one last time before taking him back.

Wonderful, he’s going to be crying in the car.

Two hours later and you’re buying him dinner and ice cream, telling him everything is alright, that they’ll be together again soon. He’s a different person after staying with Captor, more himself than ever. That tough façade and the crude behavior melts into something lovable. Until about twenty miles in, and you’re left with the emotional aftershock of a tormented, _horribly tortured_ teenager away from his loving boyfriend again.

Why do you put up with this little shithead again?

Three more hours finds you at home, Karkat changed into one of your turtlenecks and sleeping soundly for the first time in what felt like an eternity. The sun’s down already and you’ll still have to drive home after this. Father has dinner already cooked up for you both, despite Karkat’s complaint to go back to bed after his car nap, and afterwards you’re forced to spend yet ANOTHER hour drinking hot cocoa nearby him, telling him about our life away, and your work.

… You would never really tell him you’re a stripper. Fastest way to get disowned here! No fucking way! No, Porrim introduced herself to him personally, saying you’re working for her company, but the details were to be a secret. Under contract. Once again, more reasons to always respect Porrim Maryam.

Carmine Vantas is a big name around your tiny hometown. The local priest, an avid volunteer worker, gives charity as much as he can. You would assume he’s a saint, wouldn’t you? No, the answer is no. All of that is well and good and shit, but underneath that kind act is a tough parenting blanket, a stern patriarchy, and some serious religious overviews. You father tries his best to understand and accept things, especially since his sons aren’t exactly well-behaved heterosexual millionaires by now, but…

Well, his parenting reflects his age, and exactly the kind of “old-fashioned” style. You’ll obey his rules, do your chores without question, and if you need something, you _earn_ it.

Like the therapy you pay half for for your own brother. Carmine never thought Karkat needed that mental stabilizer, his medications, the high-priced shrink he goes to once a month. No in order to keep your brother on treatment, well…

There’s a reason why you’re a _stripper_.

“Son, I know how difficult times are for you. Honestly I’m constantly amazed with your charity for Karkat. Always sending money.” Just as everyone always says, you look exactly like Carmine. He’s a lot taller, and more built than you’ll ever get. (Too muscly, it wouldn’t be appealing at the club.) Those chocolate eyes always look kind and caring, even when they’re focused on _you_. “I still have no idea why you insist on sending it through the mail, when we see each other so often anyway! You know you can always change all that and drop it off now, right?”

You have to give a deep sigh, expecting this before he even brought up the money. Every time…

“I send it along with my own bills father. It’s only reasonable to save my biggest expenditures until the one day.” This argument has become so old. Every time. Every time you even set foot in this fucking house he asks for the money through this ploy. That’s all your relationship has boiled down to. _Money._

Why the hell did you ever think he was a gracious man to begin with?

“I can’t spare anything right now, sorry Father. And I should be on my way home as well.”

“Such a shame…” You hear him mutter, obviously about the money, not about your leaving. “It’s late, Kankri, stay the night.” Aren’t you even going to ask, instead of demand like this?

“I can’t. I still have to swing by Ms. Maryam’s apartment to pick up my kitten. I have work in the morning as well, Father, you know this!”

“I can’t very well watch as my son walks out to drive for the next two hours out there! It’s been snowing and the road are icy Kankri!”

“I don’t have a choice, Father!” When did your voice raise so much. Why do fights always have to break out like this? Why can’t he just understand for once? In the end you didn’t even say goodbye to Karkat. With all your arguing you’d cleaned your mug, and were halfway out the door before shouting back at him.

Then he gave you the eyes. The _fucking_ kicked puppy eyes, like not staying had physically wounded him, or offended him. All that anger and competitiveness melted away to a reveal a cold, broken father “concerned” for his child. The same child he’d nearly thrown out of his house the day he caught you jerking off to men, the same one who yelled and screamed at your first boyfriend for keeping you over a night quite similar to this one, for the same goddamn reasons… That same horrible guilt trip.

You didn’t fall for it. Not now. Not ever again.

The snow started up halfway home, during your first driving break at a highway rest stop. Cold and devious like leaving home after suffering through that pity _trap_.

At least the snow is pretty.

You’re starting to cry before the phone rings, yet again. Probably father calling to apologize like always. You don’t even check the number, who gives a shit anyway? “Hello?”

“Holy shit, you actually picked up! Kankri, hey babe!”


End file.
